


Harilda'lan

by chubbyhawke



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drabble, Friendly Alistair, Friendly Morrigan, FtM Tabris, FtM Warden, M/M, Male Tabris - Freeform, Mentioned Alistair - Freeform, Mentioned Morrigan, Sexual References, Transgender Tabris, Transgender Warden - Freeform, Unsafe Binding Practices, Zevran being Zevran, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7350700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chubbyhawke/pseuds/chubbyhawke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1. (NOUN) Alternate of "Haralda'lin"; refers to an elf who is born as a female, but lives as a male. Roughly translates to "False Boy" or "Lying Boy". </p><p>Jarvis Tabris has never seen himself as a real man. He never felt adequate with his body or his appearance, no matter how much armor he wore or how well he could bind. Zevran is one of the only members of their traveling party that knows his secret, and he is the only one who has ever made him feel... adequate, genuinely adequate. Now that Tabris has confessed his romantic attraction to Zevran, how ever, the assassin has begun playing hard to get. Tabris fears rejection, and is desperate to understand the Antivan's true intentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harilda'lan

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: this fanfiction contains a brief description of unsafe binding practices (i.e. bandages / ace wrap). please bind safely. using bandages, ace wrap, medical tape or anything else that's similar to the previous is not a safe binding practice and can do serious damage to your body. do your research before binding, and make sure that you take good care of your body in doing so.
> 
> also note that my tabris's name is pronounced YARVIS TABREE.

Tabris hadn't left his tent for almost two hours now. He could hear his companions sitting around the fire outside; eating the stew that Morrigan had made for them and bragging about the battles of the day before. Alistair was boasting about a move he made with his shield that knocked a hurlock right off of it's feet. Oghren chuckled about his fear of accidentally swallowing darkspawn drool during battle which earned a disgusted noise from Morrigan. The others took their turns and told their tales, eventually it sounded as though someone had begun passing wine around the fire. For the heartfelt tales of battle and glory melted into drunken babble, each comment earning a lazy chuckle from some one else across the circle. Tabris, how ever, was all alone; pacing back and forth in his tent. He had tore a trail into the dirt with his boots. Before long, he would be digging a ditch.

It wasn't that he _didn't_ want to go and drink with his companions, or- well, maybe it was, but whatever. He just... couldn't face Zevran, that's all. Which was a strange concept, considering that Zevran had been his closest friend out of all of his traveling companions- even Alistair. Zevran was one of the only ones in their party who knew Tabris' secret, the only others being Alistair and Morrigan. Tabris trusted that assassin more than he trusted anyone in their group, and _yet_ he couldn't face him. Just two weeks earlier, Tabris and his group had set up camp just outside of the Emerald Graves. They were on their way out of Orlais after making contact with the Grey Wardens who were stationed there, and the sun had already begun to fall. They had no choice but to stop. While the rest of the group fussed over food and fire preparations, Zevran pulled Tabris off to the side. He asked the other elf if he would like to join him for a walk through the trees; just to explore the area around camp, make sure that it was secure and all that.

The Emerald Graves was home to some of the most beautiful forests in Thedas, and everything there just seemed to be so _green_. Tabris grew up in Denerim, where everything was grey, and brown. Becoming a Grey Warden had exposed him to a wide variety of colorful landscapes, not to mention colorful people. The trees grew so tall that you had to squint to see the canopies. The trees were loosely spread, each trunk seven or eight feet apart. In between trunks in some places, you would see elven statues built by the ancient civilizations. When Zevran stopped to rest, he took a seat at the foot of a vine covered statue of _Fen'harel_ , the Dread Wolf. Though Tabris was a city elf by birth, he would've had to be a complete idiot to not recognize the idol. 

 _"It is quite a gorgeous place, isn't it?" the Antivan assassin mused. He stared up towards the distant canopies of the tree tops and there was a smile playing at the corners of his lips. It had been a genuine smile, one that he would've hidden if conscious of it. "In all of my travels, I have never seen this place. I wanted to take this chance to... experience it. I fear we will not want to stop for sight-seeing when morning comes."_ _He hid his smile and straightened his posture. Now he stared ahead towards the path that they had come from. He held his usual expression, including that cocky smolder of his. He turned to the other, and propped his elbows on his knees. "Is there something on your mind, friend? You've been terribly quiet."_

 _"You didn't bring me out here just because you thought I was depressed, Zev," Tabris said. "or_ did _you?"_

_"I only wished to speak with you for a bit," Zevran raised an eyebrow at the elf who sat down beside him. "A lot weighs on your shoulders, friend, and hundreds of lives are decided by your actions. Many follow you, even though you did not ask them to, and you lead them regardless of consequence. You didn't ask to be a Grey Warden, but here you are, preparing to lead an army against the Blight. It is a difficult responsibility, but you do not step down from it.  I suspected you might like to get away from all of that for an hour or two. Was I wrong?"_

_Tabris' eyes fell down to his hands, and he sighed. He didn't need to be reminded about all of that. He could have gone the rest of the day without ever thinking about the damned Blight again, but Zevran was right. There was something on his mind. It didn't have anything to do with this army, the Blight, or even the fact of him being a Grey Warden. The idea of escaping the reality of the Blight in order to pursue the demon that troubled him the most, he had to admit that it was an intriguing prospect. If only he could find the words to describe it, what he was feeling. It was a monster within him that held no physical definition. It was a monster more restless than the Arch Demon itself. "I... no," he finally huffed. "You're not wrong."_

_"So tell me what troubles you, friend," the assassin smiled. "We have quite some time before sunset."_

_The other did not answer for a long time. He sat beside his friend in silence, staring at his hands as though he were waiting for the answers to all of his questions to appear there in plain text. This would be one of the hardest things he had ever done. Had he ever confessed his attraction to some one before? Probably not, no. He had never been confident enough in himself to flirt with others, let alone offer himself to some one. He wanted to throw up and faint at the same time. Which would be less embarrassing, he wondered; throwing up all over a statue of Fen'harel or randomly fainting on a statue of Fen'harel? He could feel Zevran staring at him, and he could see his gaze in the corners of his eyes. What was he supposed to say? Was there a specific way to go about this? "_ _I..." he spoke just to fill the silence between them, and Zevran sat patiently, listening. Couldn't he just say something? Anything? This elf always had something to say about everything no matter what, but now he was completely silent. Tabris only felt_ more _frustrated. "You._ You _are the thing that's troubling me."_

"Me?"  _Zevran chuckled, putting a hand over his heart in mock offense. "You_ wound me, _my grey warden friend. What could I have done that upsets you so?"_

_Tabris instantly regretted everything that he had ever said in his entire life. "No, I didn't mean that-" he began, but stopped himself. Couldn't he just be straight-forward? Would it be that difficult? He took a deep breathe through his nose and let it out through his lips, and he let his shoulders relax. It was now, or never, Tabris. Now or never. "I'm trying to say that I've been thinking about you, Zevran."_

_"I'm not sure that I follow," he said with a smirk that indicated he was definitely following everything that Tabris was saying. "Are you saying that you_ fancy _me?"_

_"I-... If you want to put it like that," the other frowned. "I suppose I am."_

_Zevran's smile only widened, and before Tabris could understand what was happening- the assassin closed the space between them. He took the other's face in his hands and kissed him; not with tenderness, but with passion. He kept one hand at the base of the shorter elf's skull, and wrapped the opposite arm around his waist to pull him just a little closer. His skin was soft, and he tasted like a strange mixture of strawberries and cheap wine._ _Tabris had never been kissed before, but the way Zevran held him made the whole thing feel so natural. He allowed his fingers to get lost in Zevran's beautiful hair as he kissed him, but as soon as he did that- the other pulled swiftly away. He still held his casual smirk, and he looked completely unchanged by what had just ensued between them. Tabris just wanted to snatch him by the shoulders and kiss him again, but he hesitated. The monster within him kept him still._

 _"I... fancy many things," Zevran said plainly as he pushed himself up off of the statue. "I fancy things that are beautiful, and things that are strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting. Would you be-" he paused, deciding to keep what ever he was originally going to say to himself. Would I be what? Tabris thought. He clung to the unfinished sentence, his brain piecing together every possible conclusion as Zevran hopped off of the statue and landed gracefully upon his feet in the grass. "W_ _e should get back to camp," he concluded. "We wouldn't want the rest of the group to think that we'd been snatched by darkspawn, now would we?"_

Tabris growled audibly and slammed his boot into a wooden crate beside the entrance of his tent. It hurt a lot, but it didn't stop him from returning to his pacing. Why couldn't he stop thinking about that kiss? Why couldn't he stop remembering it? He only wished that he could think about something else- anything else but that. He tried to think of his growing army, or the arch demon that so often haunted his nightmares. He thought of the darkspawn army that threatened the safety of all of Thedas, and he thought of the screams of the soldiers who died in the battle at Ostagar. Alas, nothing seemed to wipe the image of the assassin's face from his mind.

He couldn't forget the way his lips tasted, or the way he growled a little from the back of his throat when a kiss is deepened by a chaste bite of the lip. He couldn't stop thinking about his stupid smirk, his stupid accent that had that stupid Antivan purr over the letter 'R' (that Tabris secretly adored), his stupid way with stupid words and the way his strong hands held his waist when they kissed. Though Zevran was frail and lithe the way most elves are, he had the surest hands. They moved with calculation, and graced without fault. He could wield a dagger with just as much talent and determination in those hands as he could with some one else's heart. And he knew it too. He hated him. He hated that blighted assassin with every aching muscle in his body, but yet, he wanted him. He wanted the very thing that he knew he could not have, and he hated himself for it. More so, he hated Zevran for it. 

He finally gave up in his pacing, and allowed himself to plop down onto the dirt. A cloud of dust formed in the air around him, but he ignored it. As he listened to Morrigan talking to Wynne about some sort of mage related thing, he remembered the first time that any one in their group had learned his secret. It was an opportunity to think about something other than Zevran, so he would gladly take it. He remembered that it was just after the battle of Ostagar, where all of the Grey Wardens and all of King Cailin's men had been slain by darkspawn due to Teryn Loghain's betrayal. A hurlock had pinned Tabris to a wall just as the tower was slowly being swallowed by flame, and he remembered a dagger sinking deep into the hollow just beneath his rib cage. He saw Alistair across the room, knocking one of the beasts to the ground with his shield. Before he could finish it off, another came from behind him and shot an arrow right into his left shoulder.

_After that, the entire world went black. The next thing he knew, he was in a small cabin that was completely unfamiliar to him. His head throbbed like he had a hangover, and the light of the room only made the aching worse. He could feel a presence standing beside him, watching him silently. Wait, he remembered now. It was Morrigan, the witch from the abandoned temple in the wilds. "Ah, your eyes finally open," the woman cooed as she approached him. She had been sitting at a bookshelf just beside the bed, going through a few of the books just before he'd awakened. He could see her, but only very vaguely. The world around him was too blurry for him to comprehend it at all. "Mother shall be pleased." she said with a smile as she stood at the bedside. She wore the same robes that she wore the very first time that Tabris had met her, and she was still just as intimidating now as she was then._

_He opened his mouth to ask Morrigan where he was and how he'd gotten here, but then he realized that he sat on this bed completely bare aside from his undergarments. There were fresh bandages wrapped around his chest, replacing the old ones that he had there for the purpose of hiding his birth identity, a secret that had once been so well kept. If he wore new bandages, that must have meant that Morrigan had bathed him and taken care of his wounds for him after the battle. This also meant that she'd seen him, that she'd seen who... or rather_ what _he was. She noticed the puzzled look on the elf's face, and it only seemed to make her smile grow._ _"_ Harilda'lan, _"  she mused, crossing her arms over her chest. "That is the term that your people use for it, no?"_

_"M-My people?" he frowned. "I was born and raised in Denerim. I'm not Dalish."_

_"Ah, my apologies, perhaps 'tis good that you aren't. Being labeled as_ Harilda'lan _is meant to be an insult, referring to the individual as a person who betrays their Creators by denying the gender given to them at birth," she explained. "''_ _I've met a few Dalish clans during my time in the wilds. I do not know much of their ways, yes, but their culture and history is_ quite _fascinating, is it not?"_

_"I-..."  he didn't know what to say. Was she insulting him, or was she simply calling attention to the fact that she knew? He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and something lodged itself in the pit of his throat. He couldn't blink and he couldn't breathe. Morrigan was all too aware of the elf's distressed state, and she seemed rather amused by it. For she began to cackle lightly to herself, before shaking her head and returning to her chair beside the bookshelf._

_"Do not fret," she assured in a soft tone, though the smirk never left her lips. "Mother and I have no intention of telling your secret. 'Tis not our place to meddle in your personal affairs."_

_He nearly fainted just from relief at hearing that, and he allowed his shoulders to relax. He finally had the opportunity to take in the situation that he was in as he let his eyes wander room. The walls were stone, and entirely blank of decor. Most of the floor was dusted with dirt, and there was not much furniture other than the bed that he sat on, the bookshelf in the corner, an old wooden table in the middle of the parlor with one chair placed at the left side, and a fire place along the back wall with a small pot of stew hung just before the flame. Steam swirled up into the air from beneath the lid of the cauldron, and it danced with the smoke that came from the fire._ _"What's going on?" he asked as he sat up, allowing himself to take in as much of the atmosphere as he could. "Where am I? What happened?"_

_"First, my name is Morrigan, lest you have forgotten," she said calmly with a calculated gaze towards the elf. "And we are in the wilds where I have just finished bandaging your wounds. You are welcome, by the way. How does your memory fare? Do you remember mother's rescue?"_

_He paused. What did he remember? He didn't remember a lot, that was one thing for sure. He remembered the battle at Ostagar, and he remembered lighting the beckon-... but the reinforcements never came. "I remember being overwhelmed by darkspawn," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Wait... what happened to the army? To the king?"_

_"Mother managed to save you and your friend, though 'twas a close call. What is important is that you both live," she explained slowly, her expression became solemn. "The man who was to respond to your signal... quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend, he is not taking it well."_

_"My friend," he pondered this for a moment, but then he remembered- Alistair, the Grey Warden who accompanied him during the battle. "Where is Alistair now?" he looked up at the witch who stood before him, and their eyes connected for a moment. Hers were an intense golden color that saw right through any barrier that he could have held. They reminded him of a hawk or an owl, beady and prying._

_"The suspicious dimwitted one who was with you before, yes," she furrowed her brow. "He is outside by the fire. Mother asked to see you when you awoke."_

_"I-... I should see him," he pushed himself to his feet and searched the floor for his armor. It lay in a pile just beside the bed, cleaned with all of the bloodstains removed. He made quick work of pulling it on and Morrigan stood not far behind him in respectful silence. He felt awkward suddenly as he turned to walk out the door. He knew that he should say something to her, but he didn't know what. He had never been around humans much before this. What was he supposed to say? "Thank you, b-by the way," he stammered, putting one hand on the door knob. "for... everything I guess."_

_"I..." she suddenly looked very flustered, and her cheeks burned with new color. "You are welcome, but 'twas Mother who did most of the work. I am no healer. Speaking of which, you should see her as soon as you are finished with your friend. She wanted to speak with you as soon as you awoke."_

_The air was dense with an early morning fog. He could see Alistair sitting on his haunches before a dying campfire just next to the edge of the pond outside of the witch's hut. There were tall cat tail grasses growing along the banks and a variety of different insects hopped between the stems. He looked completely unharmed, he was left without a single bruise or scar. Morrigan's mother must've been a talented healer. Tabris cleared his throat and moved to sit beside his friend at the fire. He stiffened at his presence, and looked warily towards him the way a person might stare at a ghost. His cheeks reddened, and he immediately looked back towards the fire. "You're... you're alive," he whispered breathlessly. "I mean, of course you are. Morrigan's mother said that you would live. I shouldn't be surprised."_

_Tabris narrowed his eyes at the man beside him. He was very deeply unsettled, and it had nothing to do with the events of the day before. "Are you alright, Alistair?"  
_

_"Yes, well, no- yes and no," he growled irritably beneath his breathe and shook his head. "I shouldn't feel so awkward, I'm sorry. While Morrigan was bandaging your wounds, I had just woken up. I didn't realize what was going on, I'm sorry. I saw-" he stopped. "I just, I didn't know. t's just too much for my mind to wrap around. Duncan, dead, and you-... I'm sorry. I had no idea."_ _He felt his heart sink. No wonder Morrigan had promised to keep his secret. There wasn't a secret_ to _keep._ _It was an empty promise that existed without purpose because Alistair had already seen everything that Tabris would've rather kept hidden._

 _He swallowed and turned away from the other. He allowed his eyes to wander the embers that hid in the dying coals of the fire, absently moving ever so slightly away from Alistair._ _He could only imagine what the other man thought of him now. Was he disgusted? Was he weirded out? DId he hate him? His stomach churned just at the thought of Alistair abandoning him now because of this. What would he do if Alistair decided he couldn't travel with some one like Tabris? He'd have to go back to Denerim, if that was even an option. It seemed as good an option as any. "_ _Hey, if it means anything, I don't think it's_ weird _at all,"  Alistair prodded, offering the elf a warm smile. "If it makes you happy to pass as a man, then so be it. You certainly had me fooled, though I suppose it's not all that hard to fool me."_ _Tabris smiled back and forced a laugh, though the comment cut him deep._

 _He wasn't just_ passing _as a man. This wasn't just a trick that he was pulling for the purpose of hiding an identity or pretending to be some one that he was not. He was a man. He knew it deep inside of him, but he wasn't about to express that to Alistair. He would leave that as it were, and hopefully it would never come up again._

He slowly began to draw in the dirt with one of his hands, trailing marks into the loose dust with a finger. He drew nothing with meaning, he simply pushed the dirt around in swirls and spirals in an attempt to pass time or erase the memories that flooded his mind. It didn't take long for this activity to bore the sanity out of him, and he returned to his restless pacing. He wondered if he would even be able to sleep tonight. The answer, probably not. Not while he was this anxious. He needed something to settle his nerves and calm him. He needed a drink, but he was too scared to leave his tent. He wondered if he could sneak out the back and steal some ale from Oghren's tent, he knew that he always kept some in there. That would be just the thing to put his mind at ease.

Drinking had become his resort for a solution to anxiety ever since he survived his Joining. If he had a nightmare, he would simply drown the memories with what ever beer he could get a hold of. There was a time though, not long after Zevran joined the party, where Tabris had a nightmare that not even alcohol could heal. He woke up soaked in his own sweat and tears, his entire body shaking without his consent or control. This had also been the night that Zevran and Tabris became good friends, the night that Zevran revealed his pre-existing knowledge of Tabris' "deep dark secret". In his dream, he saw the Arch Demon. A menacing beast, sitting proud at the peak of a mountain with it's wings spread abroad and his jaw gaping as he roared towards the heavens.

He saw himself at the foot of that mountain, graveling to the monster with his head against the dirt. He felt his heart pumping raw fire through his veins, and he felt as though his entire body might erupt into flame. Then, he watched himself slowly turn into one of them, a hurlock, a monster, a darkspawn. Large horns grew from the back of his head, and his skin turned a ghastly shade of grey-green. His fingers sprouted claws and his teeth grew fresh pairs of fangs. He was no longer himself. He was them. He would destroy the mortal world. He would consume and crush the entire mortal universe for his Arch Demon. He was _them._

_When he woke up, he saw a familiar face seated at the opposite end of his tent. His blond hair was pulled out of his face into a sloppy bun, and the dark circles beneath his eyes indicated that he hadn't slept very well either. He sat at the foot of his friend's makeshift bed, and stared patiently towards the other. He wore no shirt, only a loose pair of lambswool trousers that blanketed his legs. Tabris sat up and put his head in his hands, not realizing that he too was shirtless other than the binding cloths that he wore over his chest. He quickly hid himself with his blankets and looked towards Zevran with a combination of embarrassment and alarm. Zevran was unchanged._

_"No need to be shy, warden," he said quietly. His voice was rough with sleep but it was still just as rich  as it always was, strung with Antivan velvet. His words rolled off his tongue in gentle purrs that sent a fuzzy warmness into the elf's chest. "I do not judge. I knew several men in the Crows who had been born as women. It is not uncommon in Antiva, we tend to be more open-minded than most. You shouldn't bind that way though, that could do some real harm to your bones."_

_He instinctively covered more of his body with his blanket. He wanted to ask the assassin why he was in his tent in the first place, but there were more pressing questions on his mind. "H-How did you know?" he whispered, clutching his blanket with quivering, desperate fingers. He wasn't sure whether or not this was better than the nightmare he had just woken up from._

_"I am an assassin, remember? I can read and manipulate others quite easily. It is all I know," he sighed. "I could tell by the way that you walked, and the way that you rest your hip against a post when you're relaxing. Some one who is born a man has a tendency to rest with their shoulders and chest. Some one who is born a woman usually rests with their hips."_

_"I..." he was at loss for words. His shaking seemed to make the entire tent vibrate, but Zevran did not comment on it. "Why are you here, Zevran? Do you realize what time of night it is?"  
_

_"You were shouting in your sleep,"  the assassin explained. "I thought I might come to check on you... before Morrigan could smother you with a pillow, that is."_

_"It was just a nightmare," the warden huffed, looking away from the other elf. "All Grey Wardens have them. I'll manage."_

_"Ah, I suppose if all is well then I should leave you to your resting," Zevran pushed himself up onto his feet. "Good night, my friend. I shall see you before we depart at sunrise."_

_Tabris nearly jumped onto his feet to grab the other elf. He intended to snatch his arm, but instead snatched his hand. He clutched it as tightly as he could just to ensure he couldn't get away. Zevran looked puzzled, but he did not resist the touch or pull away. "Wait-" the other pleaded breathlessly. "Will... Will you stay? If you don't find it strange, I can sleep easier if there's some one else in my tent with me."_ _He wasn't sure why, but he couldn't stand the thought of being alone after that. It wasn't as if he feared for his safety. He slept with his bow beneath his pillow and his arrows at his feet. This was a problem he'd had ever since he was a child. He would have his cousin sit beside his bed while he slept some nights just to ward away the bad dreams with her presence. He couldn't explain way, but something about the presence of another could put Tabris' mind at ease. It allowed him to get the rest he needed for the day ahead._

 _Zevran stared at him for a long moment in a mixture of shock and confusion. It was obvious that no one had ever asked anything like this from him before, and he wasn't sure how to react. Normally, the assassin would have responded with some sort of comment about what his staying in the warden's tent would imply about their relationship, but something made him hold his tongue._ _Tabris knew that Zevran's mind only had two main focuses; sex, and murder. Compassion, friendship, kindness or even affection were not strong suits of his. They were new territory to him, bridges that he had seen for years but never dared to cross. The other elf could practically see the gears in the assassin's mind turning as he eyed him, processing the situation in the only way he knew how. Eventually, his muscles relaxed into the touch of the other and he gave in. He moved back towards the elf and sat on the dirt beside his bed. He continued to hold the other's hand, and he studied the eyes of the elf before him._ _"_

 _It is strange, I will admit," he said with a forced chuckle. "but I comply, for now. So long as it keeps you from waking the entire camp. I_ would _be rather sad to see Morrigan suffocate you, grey warden."_

Stop _thinking_ about him, he told himself as he only began to pace more angrily back and forth in his tent. If only he could just go to sleep, if only his mind were not so restless. Though, if he slept, he would only continue to dream about the Antivan assassin who currently haunted his thoughts. Ever since he and Zevran had shared their first kiss in the Emerald Graves, Zevran had noticeably been neglecting Tabris' attention. If Tabris tried to flirt with him, he would noticeably avoid the affection and change the topic of the conversation to other things.

If Tabris asked to sleep in Zevran's tent with him the way that he always had in an effort to calm his endless nightmares, Zevran would insist that his tent had recently become infested with some kind of pest or vermin that he would not wish the other to be bothered with. Though it was subtle, Tabris could see a strange kind of irritation coming from the other elf every time a romantic or affectionate action had been persued on his end. It was strange behavior for Zevran, and it deeply unsettled him. Part of him feared that the assassin did not requite his feelings. He feared that his identity, his gender, made the Antivan uncomfortable (though the possibility was highly unlikely considering the lifestyle of Antivan people and their culture of love). How unlikely the possibilities may be, how ever, he couldn't shake them. No matter how hard he tried. 

In his pacing, he had not realized that the commotion of his comrades gathered around the fire had vanished. They had finally come to their senses, deciding to take the rest of the night to gather some energy for the journey that would come the following morning. The only sound that came from outside now were the sounds of crickets chirping in the near by grasses, and the crackling of a dying fire. He exhaled slowly, letting the silence rest on his shoulders for a moment. He needed some fresh air. With everyone having retreated back to their tents, now would be the perfect time for him to find some peace- alone. He kicked off his boots and shoved them onto the pile of blankets and furs that he managed to use for a bed, and he slowly stepped out from his tent; allowing the cool, late evening grass to weave between his bare toes. 

Thankfully, he had been right in his assumptions. All of his companions had indeed left for their tents for the night. The only soul that he sat with in that darkness was the dying light of the campfire that spit feeble sparks at him as firewood and coals crumbled into ash. He took a seat on a log just beside the fire pit, and he rest his elbows on his thighs; propping his chin up on his palms as he stared absently into the embers. The pit offered no heat, only thin smoke the spiraled into the blackness. There wasn't a breeze that night, and as soon as he stepped outside the chirping of the crickets vanished. No living thing offered a single sound as he sat silently on his log. Even here in the peaceful darkness, the only place where he might've sought release, he was trapped with his thoughts. 

"God _damnit_ ," he grumbled, palming his eyes irritably and tugging at his hair as though this might relieve the stress that bogged him. Despite his grumbling, the silence that existed in the world around him was unbroken. No birds, no crickets, not even a single nug to offer a pitiful squeak as it bound through the grasses in search of a shelter for the evening to protect itself from predators. If only there could be something, anything to disrupt this silence. He didn't care if it was the sound of Oghren snoring; even that would be something, at least.

As if some greater force had heard the elf's silent prayers, there was a sound of footsteps not far behind him; not nonchalant or graceful footsteps but footsteps that held intent- footsteps that wanted to be heard. He turned around in his seat to see who or what had been approaching, but the horizon was empty. The bushes along the forest line were still, and the glass never shifted for lack of breeze. He told himself that he was only hearing things, and returned to his brooding posture over the fire pit. Though, as soon as he moved to put his head in his hands, he saw a familiar figure sitting on a log just beside him- lean and precisely carved with skin that looked a dark amber in the darkness, and hair scattered in random puffs of blond strands that had been arranged without order; like he'd just woken up.

"I thought that you had already retired for to night," he said slowly; less sarcastic and suave, more tired, more genuine. "What keeps you at this hour, hmm? More frightening dreams of Arch Demons and seething darkspawn?"

"It's not that, Zevran," he huffed, not allowing himself to look at the other man.

"You weren't at the fire when Morrigan prepared soup for all of us, yknow," he frowned. "You truly missed out."

"Missed out on what? Alistair and Oghren's war stories?" Tabris shook his head. "I'll pass."

"Truly, grey warden, what is keeping you on your feet at this time of the night?" he scooted closer ro the other, but did so in a way that was meant to look subtle. "I will not criticize." Tabris could not bring himself to look at the other. He could feel the warmth emitting from him, and he could faintly hear his breathing. He wanted to spin around on his heels and knock that assassin right in the jaw as hard as he could, but he resisted. As much as he would love to punch that bastard right in his stupid handsome face, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He may be frustrated and angry, but he would never hurt his friend.

"How do you feel about me, Zevran?" he bit out, though he was surprised at how easy it was for him to say that. Before, he could hardly flirt with the elf without losing all composure and becoming an emotional mess. Now, he was confident enough in his affections for the other that they infuriated him. They completely infuriated him in every way imaginable.

"I... heh, what?" the other's ears drooped, and he looked confused. It was an act, Tabris knew it. Zevran was attempting to manipulate him with guilt. It would not work.

"You heard me," he grumbled impatiently. "You've been avoiding me ever since we left the Emerald Graves, and you know it." 

Zevran's lip curled, now in aggression than smolder. He'd been caught red-handed, not something that he could handle very well. He shifted away from the other and stared down into what was left of the fire. The both of them said nothing for a long moment, both glaring into the embers as though they might come to life and provide them the key to the solace of all their stresses. "You are... more observant than you seem," the assassin admitted. While he spoke, he restlessly picked at the dead skin gathering at the corners of his fingernails. It was a bad habit. "I have been avoiding you, and I apologize."

"So... _what?_ " Tabris turned towards Zevran. "Do you regret what happened? Is this how you handle that regret? Are you truly that pety?"

"I feel a lot of things, warden," he said, clenching his teeth. "but I do not regret what happened between us in the Emerald Graves. My feelings on the matter are simply a bit... ah- complicated."

"It shouldn't _be_ complicated," Tabris snapped. "It's a yes or no question."

Zevran pushed himself up onto his feet and slowly began to pace around the fire. His hair had fallen from it's bun and lay loose on his shoulders, and his form cast a shadow in midnight blackness. Tabris could see his orange eyes gazing down into the remnants of the campfire. For a moment, he thought that Zevran was staring at _him_. It was too dark to truly tell. "It is complicated, warden," he growled, though more to himself than to the other elf that sat on the opposite side of the fire pit. "Do you truly not understand? I am a Crow. I am a whorehouse boy. I am an assassin. That is all I know. I know how to kill a man without getting caught, and I know so many bedroom tricks that the Divine herself would have to step down from her position if she practiced them. That is all that I am, warden. Sex, and murder, nothing else."

"That is why I am so... conflicted." he ran his fingers through his hair and visibly stiffened. "I feel things for you that do not fit into either category. I find myself wanting ah- I-... something with you that has nothing to do with murder, that isn't purely about sex. When I meet a person, they are always one of two things, either A. potential target or B. potential bed partner. To me they are never anything more than that label, that object. I look at you and I don't see a potential target. I look at you and the first thing that comes to mind isn't sex. The things that come to mind are... strange to me, shores of an island that I have yet to wander."

"I look at you and I want to kiss you just so that I can taste your lips again, not so that I can use it as a leeway into something intimate. I want to sit with you in your tent at night, not to charm you or sneak looks at your bare skin while you pull off your armor. I want to sit there because I want to comfort you while you sleep, I find myself wanting to protect you from your nightmares. In all honesty, I rarely think about sex when I look at you. It's... It's against everything I've been raised on and these things that I feel are breaking the foundation of things I held sacred. Can you not understand why I am so... distressed?" His voice cracked on the last note, and his posture faltered. "I... I had hoped to extinguish these feelings by treating you this way. I did not realize that it was taking such a toll."

Tabris stared at him with mixed confusion and wonder. He had never seen Zevran in such a broken state. It could have been lack of sleep, or even alcohol, but it exposed the raw broken matter of a man named Zevran who held so much of his pain inside. He desperately wanted to stand up and hug him, hug him and never let him go, but he decided against it. He figured that the other probably did not want to be touched right now. The more Zevran spoke, though, the faster Tabris' heart began to race. This was a confession, wasn't it? That Zevran did actually requite his feelings? He swallowed in an attempt to calm his over-active nerves. "So, you're saying that you like to look at me?" he asked, offering a small smirk in an effort to pull a smile out of the assassin.

"I give you an entire speech about my affection for you and you respond with that?" he raised his eyebrows, but Tabris could hear him quietly chuckling from his side of the firepit. "To answer your question, yes- I do rather enjoy looking at you, no matter what angle it may be."

He looked down at his hands in an attempt to hide the blush that had begun to rise in his cheeks. God he hated him. He just needed to leave now, go in his tent and just leave. But, he couldn't. He couldn't leave it like this. He would have to be a heartless bastard to abandon a situation like this and leave it to sort itself out. "You've mentioned that you fancy both men and women," he pointed out as he sat back and crossed his legs at the ankles. "Do you still fancy me? Despite my... complications?"

Zevran continued to chuckle just below his breathe, and it sparked a gentle fire in the other's chest. The way he laughed, it was warm but rough in texture, like lamb's wool. Tabris nearly forgot to breathe when he saw him step into the empty fire pit to come and sit on the log beside him. Their shoulders touched, and Zevran took Tabris' chin in between his forefinger and his thumb, forcing their eyes to meet. "Warden," he huffed, the title falling from his lips. "You are the handsomest man that I have ever met, regardless of may be in your pants. You are brave. You are strong. You are... probably dangerous, now that I mention it. I follow you around the country side at your whim, wondering whether or not you will choose to kill me when this work is done. I am an assassin, after all. How can I be trusted? You have the fate of my life in your hands and yet, I toy with it. I toy with you. You are-" he paused, looking away and releasing the other's face from his fingers. "You are absolutely brilliant in every sense of the word. I would follow you through every nook or cranny in Thedas, Blight or no Blight. I have never felt this before, and I fear that it will be the end of me."

"Not the end of you," Tabris murmured, gently putting a hand on the assassin's cheek. His skin was soft and warm, like fresh caramel. "but the end of the world that you understand. You are afraid that everything that once made sense to you will never again make any sense at all. You're afraid that you'll become a fool in a world of your own creation."

"So you do understand then," he grumbled. "You understand my fear, but do you see? I am... in love with you and I-I... I've never once taken you into my bed. The idea that some one can bring these emotions from me without the prospect of the bedroom... it is almost more frightening than the latter. It's against everything-"

"Against everything you know," Tabris concluded. He looked away from the elf beside him, and he looked towards their knees, sitting just together- not close enough to touch but not far enough away to be platonic. He clambered onto his feet and turned away from the other man. He crossed his arms over his chest as he found himself leaning into the side of a tree. He could hear a frog chirping in the distance, perhaps at the edge of a lake just down the road. Many different thoughts swam in his head, most of them worry. He knew Zevran's fear, and he couldn't ask that he try to conquer the very thing that daunted him. Not many things could scare a man like Zevran, a man who had lived his entire life as a weapon, a man who had never feared death. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, desperate to piece his thoughts together, but he couldn't. It was all too much. "If you would rather return to a strictly business relationship for the sake of your sanity, I would... I would understand."

Zevran bolted from his seat, and he was before the other almost instantly- Tabris hadn't even heard his footsteps. Before he could hope to take control of the situation, Zevran had snatched his wrists and pinned them above his head. He rest his forehead against the his, and Tabris could feel his warm breathe on his cheeks. He desperately wanted to lean towards him, to close the distance that lingered between their lips, but Zevran had angled himself in such a way that Tabris could not do so, despite how much he'd wanted to. The assassin was in complete control of their position. "No," he nearly growled, as his deep amber eyes searched those of the warden before him. "If we did that, I would have to watch you slowly fall for another. I would watch you forget about me, while I held tightly onto you. I would have to accept the idea of some one else getting the opportunity to touch you-" he bit his lip and turned his head away. "I could not allow it. I know, It is... foolish of me to feel this, but I do. I cannot help it."

Tabris pulled one of his hands free of the other's grip, and he rest it just on Zevran's cheek, forcing him to look into his eyes again. "You wish to touch me, Zevran?" he whispered, almost luridly as he caressed the cheek in his hand.

"Of course I do," he huffed irritably. Despite his tone, he let his guard drop as he leaned into the touch. He allowed his free hand to grip the warden's hip. His thumb made wound small circles into the skin just beneath the hem of his shirt. Just the feeling of his smooth skin beneath his finger tips, it made his heart sing in the highest variety of pitches and tunes. "Sweet Maker, I do."

Tabris smirked a little, and he leaned in to press his lips to Zevran's neck, just where his earlobe connected to his jawline. The chaste gesture sent a shiver down the assassin's spine, and he only began to grip his wrist more tightly. "Do you want me to be yours, Zevran?" he asked, his breathe ghosting across the other's skin. "Only you will be able appreciate me. No one will be able to touch me, kiss me, or hold me, except for you. Is that what you want?"

"It is the only thing that I have ever wanted," the other growled as he pressed himself closer to the warden, their bodies fitting together like two halves of one whole, separated but not meant to be apart. Tabris allowed his legs to wind around the assassin's waist, so that he was the only thing that held him up. He was the only thing that kept him from falling onto the ground, and Zevran held him with the strength and sureness of a master. The warden smiled and he kissed his partner's neck again, now just at the nape of the neck where it connected to his shoulder.

"So, let's be foolish," he murmured. "we can deal with the consequences when they come."

"To hell with consequences," Zevran sighed. "To hell with everything I thought that I understood. I... I am your's. I am your's regardless of where that may lead."

"and I, your's." Tabris' smile only widened. "Would you like to join me in my tent, Zev? or would you prefer we do this here?"

Zevran grinned, and it lit up his features. He looked absolutely beautiful, and it did strange things to the other elf's heart. He could hardly keep from kissing him again. "It is intriguing," he said, playfully biting his lip. "but let us retire to your tent. We do not need the nugs and the toads to watch us." 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed this guys ! there really aren't enough fics out there with zevran in them, let alone zevran with a specific warden. i might write other fics like this (with zevran and my transgender!warden oc) or i might not. i write lots of dragon age stuff though so look at my profile to see some other stuff i've done. thanks !


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